


Little Gestures

by charlesworthy



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining, and a little game of chess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 02:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10548204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesworthy/pseuds/charlesworthy
Summary: “Did something...  happen?” he asked, just as Ike lifted the flap to let Soren go through before him.Ike glanced away thoughtfully.  “Yeah, I guess so.”Unfortunately, such a short answer meant Ike had no intention of elaborating.  Whatever he 'guessed' happened, Soren was the one left guessing.--Soren thinks the tiny chance he has of getting Ike's attention is completely dashed.





	

Soren knew Ike was up to something from the beginning. The mercenary – well, he was technically nobility now, but Soren could never refer to him as such and knew that Ike appreciated that sentiment – had disappeared for the first half of the day, and Soren hadn't seen him until their pre-dinner meeting to discuss funds and requisitions.

Ike was clearly trying to keep a smile off his face. It was easy to tell, but no matter how many times Soren quirked his eyebrows or asked him if there was something on his mind, Ike remained silent.

“Very well, if there's nothing you need to address, I'll continue...”

Soren wondered sometimes if he wasn't painful to listen to. He'd discerned as much from others. Even Greil, at times, would want the 'short version' of his opinion. Ike himself was on the simpler side of things, and had no qualms for telling even the Empress Apostle Sanaki of Begnion herself to cut to the quick. It wasn't every day Soren wondered this, but today, with Ike hiding something Soren couldn't immediately determine for himself, he did.

“Am I boring you?” he said, before he could twist it into something kinder, softer for Ike. He usually gave Ike that courtesy, even though Ike never wanted it.

The swordsman shook his head. “Of course not, Soren. I'm just a little distracted. You said we'd need how many new lances to arm the men?”

“One-hundred six. It will keep them armed until, if all goes well, we march on Daein's capital. Just enough to carry aside, and more than enough for the trip there.”

Ike nodded. He still had that weird semi-smile on his face. “Sounds good. When--”

A bell sounded, and then Soren knew Ike was lost. Dinner was ready.

“Well,” Ike said, pushing himself away from the table and offering a wide smile. “Dinnertime.”

“Mm... I'm not hungry. Remember the war meeting after dinner, Ike.”

Ike extended his hand. “C'mon. You should eat.”

The mage just glanced at his hand coldly. Then, his face softened as he realized himself. “I should pack everything up here.”

“It'll wait for us.”

Soren bit his lip. He didn't have to ask – Ike wanted Soren to take his hand. Still, the question hung in the air. That was a little more... intimate than two friends might do, and regardless of what they were, friends, lovers, enemies, acquaintances, _people would talk._

“C'mon,” Ike said.

Hesitantly, Soren placed his fingers on Ike's palm. Ike did the rest, grabbing the strategist's hand and lacing their fingers together. He gave the mage's hand a gentle squeeze, and smiled. Was he planning something?

Soren expected Ike to pull him away and break into a sprint or something. Instead, he simply gave Soren a gentler smile that made butterflies flutter in his stomach and climb into his throat. He swallowed them. Halfway to the mess tent, Soren realized his free hand was clenched into a tight fist and unclenched it.

“Did something... happen?” he asked, just as Ike lifted the flap to let Soren go through before him.

Ike glanced away thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Unfortunately, such a short answer meant Ike had no intention of elaborating. Whatever he 'guessed' happened, Soren was the one left guessing.

Soren was quiet during dinner. Ike sat noisily beside him, talking with the other soldiers seated near him when he wasn't too busy eating, which he usually was. He was in such a good mood, Soren couldn't really fathom it. The last time Ike had been in such a mood was when his father finally allowed him to become a proper mercenary – a sentiment that had lingered in Ike enough that he had to excitedly tell Soren about it, even after the facts were self-evident weeks after the event. What could compare to that? To _Ike?_

Soren mulled over several likely options. Since Ike had become general, he had been bordering on the melancholy side, though it was unlikely any but Soren really knew that. They'd spent a few nights together, awake, late, discussing how much Ike _detested_ the idea that he was some kind of Noble, with some kind of Noble Title he didn't even care to ask Elincia about.

What could pull Ike so easily out of such a funk?

As he pushed a piece of meat across his plate with his fork (something he'd done at least twelve times before with other pieces), he glanced up to scan the room for inspiration. His eyes landed on Gatrie, leaning over a nearby table, trying to convince some poor Begnion woman that he was worth his time.

Soren swallowed some bile and turned back to his plate. Moments later, a dreaded thought struck him.

Was Ike in love? Did he find some nice girl, amongst the Begnion soldiers, he could relate to?

He blanched, setting his fork carefully on top of his dinner plate. He wasn't particularly hungry before, but now he felt sick.

It had been a fact of Soren's existance that Ike would never foster the same feelings Soren carried for him. How could he? Soren had never saved Ike's life, or instill in him the kind of hope a poor, abused branded boy had never felt before a single turning point in his miserable existance. These were facts that Soren had more-or-less come to terms with, and was doing his best to manage.

Even so, the thought Ike held feelings for some one, especially some one Soren didn't know, was devastating.

“You okay?”

Ike's voice pulled Soren out of his reverie. Still carrying a shocked look, Soren looked up to him. “You look like you've seen a ghost,” Ike joked.

Soren regained control of himself, wiping his sweaty palms on his robe under the table. “Ah, yes. I'm just not hungry, as I said earlier...”

“You ate less than you usually do. You sure you're alright?”

Soren pulled his mouth into a thin line. “Ike, this campaign has suddenly become something that may have a chance of success. As primary tactician, my workload has multiplied tenfold seemingly overnight, and while I've done my best to stay on top of it all, the work will dog me still. I'm stressed, just sitting here, when there's work to be done elsewhere.”

He stood, gathering up his plate and utensils. “I'll see you at the war meeting.”

“Wait, Soren --”

“I'm sorry, Ike, there's simply too much to do.”

He turned on his heel, briskly carrying himself away from the table, and mess tent (after discarding the untouched food).

It was, simply put, a boldfaced lie. The turning point of their campaign happened nearly a month ago, and Soren had been quick to take on his new duties and organize them in the schedule of his life. He was exactly four-and-a-half days ahead of schedule, and if it weren't for his work ethic, things would work smoothly for those four-and-a-half days if he did nothing but sit at noisy tables and wonder why the simple, obvious fact that Ike _didn't love him_ stung as much as it did.

The best salve for a heartache, Soren decided, was to bury himself in work. He did so first by cleaning up the mess they had left before dinner, and once that was done he readied the maps and markers for the war meeting himself. When dinner still wasn't over by the time he had accomplished that, he had opened a tome across the war table and tried to distract his mind with the magical theorum of a well-known spirit charming scholar. The author was a particular man that Soren enjoyed reading in the past, but at this moment he couldn't get his eyes to glue to the page or his mind to really undertand the words.

He closed it with a sigh. He knew, one day, Ike would get a wife, and have a child, and start a family, and Soren would be alone but _not really_ , and every day it would sting and –

He shut his eyes, trying to wave away his imagination with sheer willpower.

“Soren? You're in here already?”

Ike's voice. Damn.

“Oh. Yes. Punctuality is--” He scanned his mind for some kind of idiom he could use. Thankfully, Ike waved his hand in dismissal, quieting Soren in a way that felt much more organic.

“What's wrong?”

The giddy aura that Ike had been radiating during dinner was absent. _At least,_ Soren thought bitterly, _he isn't thinking of her while we speak._

“Nothing important, as I said.” As per usual, Soren found it difficult to spin even a small fib to Ike. This wasn't a lie at all – Soren's feelings, in this matter, were unimportant. “Where's Titania?”

“Helping to clean up after dinner. As usual.”

“And the Begnion Delegation?”

“On their way, probably. You know they like being late.”

Soren forced a smile. It was bitter. “Naturally.”

There was a pause, and Soren hated how natural and easy the air felt around Ike. It nearly calmed him down, but he foolishly stoked the fire inside him on his own accord.

Ike finally said something. “Was there some pressing issue we needed to go over tonight?”

“No,” Soren answered. “The Begnion nobility are not the fastidious, skilled soldiers I'm used to working with. Tonight's goal was just to make sure they understood our movements perfectly. I mentioned that this campaign has a chance, but it is still a remarkably slim chance, and we need everything we possibly can to go right. I'll not have them ruining something that could have been avoided.”

“You think they're that dumb?” Ike asked. From any one else, it may sound like a challenge of Soren's intelligence. From Ike, it sounded innocent.

“I don't want to gamble, either way,” Soren replied, dryly. In actuality, the commanders of their Begnion troups seemed decently competent, and had been more attendant to their war table meetings than Ike was, some nights.

Ike nodded. He believed Soren. “How bad would it be if I just... Called it off?”

“The war meeting?”

Soren's heart sank. He held no affection for holding a stupid conversation, but without the war meeting, he'd have to spend more time wallowing in his self-pity, and imaging the kind of woman Ike fell for, and thusly the kind of person he would never be.

“Mmhm. If we're just going over the same things, it shouldn't hurt.”

“I suppose we could...”

Ike grinned. Soren could see the same twinkle in his deep blue eyes that was present with his earlier mood. “I'll go tell Titania, and she'll tell the others.”

Soren's throat was completely dry. “Of course. I guess I'll just put everything away and...” He paused. What would he do, really? It was clear he wouldn't sleep at all tonight. “Get back to work.”

“Actually,” Ike said, throwing Soren for a loop. “Would you mind maybe meeting me in my tent?”

Even with Soren's thoughts of Ike's budding love affair, and the constant worry that had been plaguing them since he joined the Greil Mercenaries that Ike _didn't love him_ and never would, he blushed.

“Of course not, Ike. Was there something you needed of me?”

A rather sly smile crossed Ike's features. Soren wasn't sure what to make of it. “Yeah, kind of. I'll see you in a moment.”

The mage forced another smile. “Yes. See you then.”

It was a very long moment. Soren packed everything away and wondered if this was the moment Ike introduced his best friend (and they were _only_ friends) to the girl of his dreams and announce they were engaged because life is short and in wartime shorter. He trudged to Ike's tent, lingering by the flap before peeking his head in to find Ike sitting on the floor, back to the entrance, leaning over... something.

“Ike?”

He turned, grin clear cut on his face. “Hey. C'mere.”

Ever cautious, the mage entered his commander's tent. “What is it you're--”

He stopped when the answer revealed itself. Ike had a checkered board laid before him, and was reading off some hastily-scratched parchment of where to put down chess pieces.

“Chess?” Soren asked. Now, he was genuinely confused. “I never thought you played.”

“I don't,” Ike responded. “But you do.”

“I do...”

“So sit. Teach me how to play it.”

A small smile forced its way on Soren's face as he did as he was asked, smoothing his robes in his lap before shifting to better reach the board and it's pieces. He forced it back down, realizing his earlier conclusion, and urged his mind to reason how this was connected to Ike's mood earlier.

The smile returned as Ike began to set the board.

“What are you doing?”

“The merchant I bought this from... He gave me this – ” He held up the parchment, waving it a bit. Soren still couldn't make out what was on it, but that was okay, because Ike soon clarified. “ – it's supposed to tell me how to play and start the game. I thought I might get it ready before you came, but... I didn't.”

“Obviously.” The mage reached across the board, starting to pluck pieces away from Ike. “You realize the pieces don't go on the color they match, yes?”

“Oh.” Ike's ears turned red. Why did that embarrass him? “No, I didn't. Honestly, the merchant's handwriting is kind of hard to read.”

Ike wasn't the strongest reader anyway. Soren carried his smile as he set up the board properly. Black for himself, and white for Ike. It felt fitting, symbolically.

“All the black pieces are mine, and all the white pieces are yours,” he explained. “For this game, that is. We can change as we wish after games.”

Normally, when Soren explained something, Ike would keep his eyes fixed on the thing he was supposed to focus on. It was one of his habits. Ike stared at the thing Soren was explaining, trying to soak up every bit of information possible from it. Here, Ike was just looking straight into Soren's eyes, and the tactician couldn't intuit what that meant.

“Okay. How do we play?”

“Each piece moves differently,” Soren continued. “These – ” he pointed to the eight pawns, running his finger along an invisible line hovering above the wooden pieces. “Are pawns. They can move only one square, but from their starting position they can move two, if you want.”

He picked one up and moved it to demonstrate. “They can't attack anything in front of them, though. Only to their diagonals.” Once again, he used his finger to demonstrate.

The same kind of explanation takes place for each piece. Ike goes into that focus mode again.

“...So the Queen's the best piece?” Ike asks, once it's clear Soren's done explaining.

Soren smiled. “Some think so. I personally prefer the bishop.”

“Ah.”

Ike stared at the board for a moment, and then looked up again into Soren's eyes. Soren is the one to break the contact.

“So, how do we start?”

“Oh, sorry. The white player typically takes the first move. You may move one piece and then I may move one piece. In standard convention, you're allowed to take your move back until your fingers stop touching a piece in a new position.”

Ike paused. His hand hovered over the pieces like he was trying to decide which to move. “...Is there a good place to start.”

Soren simply shrugged, brushing some of his bangs behind an ear. “There are conventional places to start, but there are no bad strategies, persay.”

“Right, I got it.” Ike's fingers grasped one of his knights and moved it. He counted each square before settling it down, trying to remember the way Soren had just said it moved. “How's that?”

“Unconventional,” Soren answered. His tone carried a little mirth. “Though I didn't expect anything less from you.”

His hand reached for his typical opening move – left-middle pawn, two spaces forward – and then stopped before his fingers could brush the piece.

“Did you want me to go easy on you?” he asked. He alread assumed an answer, but wanted to double-check.

Ike smiled. “No, of course not.”

“You'll lose,” Soren warned.

“I already expected to.”

Soren committed to his move. “So that's...?” Ike started.

“That's conventional.”

The air between them became warm. For a long time, the only sound was wood clacking on the board. Ike didn't have many questions, which surprised Soren a little. Usually, he asked enough questions to give the impression that he hadn't really been listening. Perhaps he had remembered everything about this game easier because it was a game? It didn't make much sense. He'd been staring at Soren the entire time.

“Check,” Soren droned, dropping his bishop in a place across the board from where Ike's king was now in peril.

“What's that?”

“Your king's in trouble. If I were to take your king, as I've taken your knight – ” he held up the small horse, dangling it between his fingers in an almost playful manner. “I win. So you have to make a move to ensure I can't take him on my next turn.”

Ike nodded. He moved a rook in the bishop's path instead, and the game continued.

Admittedly, the game was short, and Soren won.

“Checkmate. I win.”

“Wow,” Ike said. “Is this what it feels like to lose against us? You're brutal.”

Soren's cheeks flushed pink. “I suppose I'll take that as a compliment.”

Ike's eyebrows raised. Suddenly, concern covered his face. “Did it not sound like one? Sorry, I meant you're... Really smart. I knew it before, but I've never had to try and match it before.”

“Are you alright?” Something felt off to Soren.

“I am,” Ike said. He decided to replace the grin on his face that had left earlier. “I was looking forward to this. You definitely didn't disappoint.”

“Pardon?”

“I bought this set earlier today,” he explained. “I think your old set got left behind when we burned everything in the fort. I didn't play with you, then, but... I remember the pieces were pretty. You'd even play it by yourself, I just figured you missed it."

Soren's lips parted gently, face heating up. “I... did,” he confirmed. He shifted his weight again, moving his hands to reset the board. He wasn't sure they would play a second game, but he was positive he wanted to busy them somehow.

Ike's smile got bigger, if it were possible. “And hey, I'm a _Lord_ now.” While his tone didn't carry the same disgust he'd used for the same phrase in the past, it certainly treated the word like a joke. “This is the kind of thing Lords do, right? I've got a reputation to live up to.”

Soren chuckled, and immediately felt embarrassed for it. “Correct,” he said, regardless. “Certainly not a game for the common masses.”

Ike had started reaching for the pieces a little late. Soren had most of the board set up, and Ike had only a few pieces on his side to put back in place. Still, their hands reached for the same piece, and bumped up to each other.

“Sorry,” Soren murmured. Ike grabbed his hand before Soren could pull away.

“Hey...” he started. “What was bothering you earlier?”

“Nothing,” the mage insisted. He wanted to pull his hand away from Ike's. For some reason, he didn't.

“Soren,” Ike chided. He moved the way his hand was holding Soren's, keeping it held between his fingers and placing his thumb gently over Soren's knuckles. Soren could definitely take his hand back if he wanted to. He didn't. “Something really got to you today. If it's something I can fix, I want to know.”

Something he could fix. Unfortunately, miracle worker Ike may be, Soren doubted his ability to ease his heavy heart.

“I just... Worked myself into a tizzy over something negligible.” It was an easy answer to decide. “You needn't worry yourself with it.”

There were still pieces missing from the board.

“Well, that's easy to say,” Ike said. “I worry about you, whether you want me to or not.”

“Y-you do?”

“Of course, I do. While we were staying in Begnion, you seemed so uncomfortable the whole time...”

Soren readied his mouth for an explanation. Ike didn't let him give one.

“I just wanted... To do something to make you smile. It's a little late but, hey. You smiled.”

Soren smiled again. “Yes, I suppose I did. I am feeling... Slightly better since then.” He was feeling much better, until today, and Ike's change in mood.

“Just slightly? Maybe I should take the chess set back.”

Soren wanted to spring forward and say 'No', but found Ike to be joking. He'd still lurched forward slightly in the moment it took him to determine that.

“See?” Ike said. “You're on edge. Did I do something?”

Soren paused, resettling in his position. He was still aware of Ike's hand on his, moreso that Ike's calloused thumb was gently tracing lines across his fingers. What was this gesture..? He liked it, but he wasn't sure he was allowed to.

“Was there something else you did today?” Soren inquired. Maybe it was possible his hypothesis had been wrong. Maybe.

Ike shook his head. “Nope. Just... tried to do something nice for you.”

“ _Why?_ ” Soren couldn't help himself.

Ike's smile faded, and Soren's heart lurched at the thought that one word somehow shattered whatever good thing had been floating in the air between them. “I just...” Ike started. Soren held onto each word, already trying to fill in the rest of Ike's sentence. Frantic, he wanted to know if Ike felt the way he thought Ike did.

Soren's arm moved. He didn't move it. Ike did, pulling his hand upward as he leaned forward, over the chessboard, and placed a small, chaste kiss to the back of Soren's hand. “I care about you,” he finally said, voice hushed.

Ike had always been a man that let his actions speak louder than words.

Soren blushed, immediately withdrawing his hand and turning away. “Ike, you don't...”

“Don't what?”

 _Don't have to pretend to do this for me._ Is how the sentence was meant to end. Instead, Soren just rose to his feet.

“It was a fun game, commander, I look forward to the next match.”

Ike stood up too. “Don't 'commander' me, Soren,” he said. “C'mere, what's bothering you?”

“If I may take my leave,” Soren said. He moved to exit, but Ike grabbed his arm. It wasn't rough, by any means. In fact, it was gentle enough to make Soren want to stay. He wanted to turn to Ike and press himself against him, let himself be vulnerable for a time, and keep Ike all to himself, if just for a moment.

“Please. Just tell me what I did, or didn't do. D-did you not like the kiss?”

Soren suddenly saw a kind of vulnerability in Ike he'd never expected from the young Lord. He turned, looking up at Ike curiously.

“I...” he started. He wanted to force out the rest of his words, and just say what he wanted to say. Why was it in this moment alone he couldn't do just that?

Ike's eyes were looking for an answer.

“I did,” Soren managed. “I did like it.”

Ike smiled, but it wasn't the eager grin he wore earlier. This was gentle, relieved.

“Maybe,” he started, closing the distance that remained between him and the mage, “you'd like another?”

Soren's face felt hotter than an Elfire spell. He glanced down, preferring to stare straight at Ike's chest. Wait, wasn't he neck-height with Ike just a couple months ago?

Ike's hand reached to his face, gently tilting his head so that Soren was forced to look at Ike.

But forced was the wrong word. Ike's grip wasn't strong, anywhere it touched Soren. Even though Ike outclassed him many times over in physical strength, Soren was free to pull away and leave whenever he wanted to. Ike did that – Ike gave that to him.

And Soren stayed.

The mage moved his hand to Ike's, still on his face, and pulled it away.

“Maybe... I would like another,” he admitted.

Slowly, Ike leaned down and brushed his lips against Soren's. He felt his heart jump into his throat, but returned it, best he could. Ike always deserved Soren's best.

“I didn't know how to say it,” Ike whispered. “Is this okay?"

Hesitantly, Soren untangled his hands from Ike's, moving them to wrap around the swordsman's waist and lock behind his back. He couldn't answer Ike verbally. He just nodded.

Ike's arms wrapped around Soren, too, one hand resting on the small of his back, the other in his hair. “Good.”

 


End file.
